


Disabling an Ultimatum

by TriDom



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Human!Chris, Human!Stiles, Lawyer!Peter, M/M, Mild domestic angst, Motorcycles, Some graphic descriptions of past injuries, Sugar Daddy, werewolf!Peter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-24
Updated: 2017-11-05
Packaged: 2018-12-19 13:44:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11898972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TriDom/pseuds/TriDom
Summary: Chris can't tell Stiles no. Maybe it's not that he can't tell him no, but he doesn't want to. Call him old fashioned, but he believes if you love someone you should let them do what they love, regardless if you like it or not. It's not always easy to do, but he isn't a hypocrite.Meaning that when Stiles is ready to get back on a motorcycle after a bad accident, he knows it not his place to do anything, but support him.He can't help it that Peter doesn't feel the same way.





	1. Chapter 1

His and Stiles’s commercial bank was in the city. It was a little inconvenient, but it just meant on their shared day off, sometimes they had an excuse to come up and run around a little bit together. After finishing with both their deposits, one from Chris’s shop and one from Stiles’s store, he pulled up the bank exit. The flow of city traffic passed in front of them to the rhythm and break of stop lights. 

“Did you want to go anywhere else?” 

“No,” Stiles said, but he was chewing the inside of his cheek. 

“We don’t have anywhere to be.” 

Stiles’s lips twisted slightly before he looked down the street to the right. “MidTown is open, isn’t it?” 

“It’s Thursday, so they should be. Do you want to go by?” Chris asked. A small seize in his chest happened. He was glad Stiles wasn’t a wolf and couldn’t hear it. 

Stiles chewed on his cheek some more. Chris looked up when he saw movement in his rearview mirror as another car pulled behind him. He turned right out of the lot, away from the freeway that would take them home and toward the side street that would take them to the motorcycle dealership.

“There’s no harm in looking,” Chris said. 

“Okay.” 

Chris glanced at Stiles between watching traffic on the narrow road around them. He hated this part of the city. Then again he hated the city in general, which is why he lived thirty miles south of it with Stiles and Peter on thirty acres surrounded by no one. 

Stiles’s music was playing from the 4Runner’s speakers. He couldn’t even guess who sang it, but he liked it. Stiles was working himself up about something or he would be singing along. 

“I didn’t know you wanted to ride again,” Chris said. 

“Yeah. I don’t know,” Stiles said. 

After he spoke, he started biting the cuticle of his thumb. He was staring at of the windows like this wasn’t the shittiest area of the city and there was actually anything worth looking at outside. Chris changed lanes and pulled a few mildly illegal maneuvers to get into the parking lot of MidTown Motorcycles. 

Their used selection was on the sidewalk outside of the supercenter building. Inside there would be all makes of Japanese motorcycles, dunebuggies, and ATVs inside. He’d come with Peter less than two months ago to buy their fourwheelers. He’d come in with Peter and Stiles almost two years ago when Peter bought Stiles a little red sportbike. 

Now that sportbike was sitting in a stack at a salvage yard and Stiles’s right leg had scars that would never heal completely. The old steel guardrail less than a mile from their house still had the dent of the bike slamming against it. 

Chris’s hands were sweating. He wiped them on his jeans. When Stiles looked at him with a small smile, Chris pasted one as close to genuine on his face as possible. It must’ve been convincing because Stiles smiled a little wider and bumped his side. Chris wrapped his arm around his neck and kissed the side of his face. 

As soon as they walked into the building the scent of new rubber and plastic filled Chris’s nose. Rows and rows of brightly painted gas tanks and fairings glittered under the strong overhead lights. Stiles moved out from under his arm almost immediately. His eyes were wide and focused like a raccoon that had seen a quarter. 

Chris followed him over to a large bright yellow Yamaha Scrambler. Chris had ridden something like it with his friends when he was younger at the acreage his grandparents owned. Peter would hate it. 

“They didn’t have this last time,” Stiles said, straddling the bike and lifting it upright. The kickstand snapped up with a click. 

Chris looked at the model tag on the handlebars. “I thought you liked the sportbike style?” 

“I did. I mean, I do, but this is cool too,” Stiles said. “It looks a little like yours.” 

Stiles meant his main motorcycle. It didn’t look even a little bit like it. His main squeeze was a Royal Enfield. It was a standard seating position, but that was all it had in common with the soulless piece of metal in front of him. But he bit his tongue until he saw Stiles smiling at him. 

“Prick.” 

Stiles stuck out his tongue before he put down the kickstand and leaned the bike back over. 

“Peter would key something like that if I brought it home.” 

“You could always key one of his,” Chris said. 

Stiles huffed a laugh. “Like it would be worth it. He would bitch so much.” 

Chris shrugged. “Birds are going to fly, fish swim, and Peter bitches.” 

“And you take up for him.” 

“So do you,” Chris said. 

“Well yeah, because you’re mean when you get tired of his shit.” 

“True.” 

Stiles took his hand as they walked through the main aisle passed Hondas and Kawasaki. Stiles didn’t have a reason for disliking them. He admitted it, but he turned up his nose to them like Peter turned up his nose to anything that wasn’t Italian. But John once had a Yamaha VMax. Peter’s dad had ridden Ducatis. Neither of them would admit that those things had anything to do with the other. 

Stiles went straight to the grouping of Yamahas and walked down the aisles, picking up a few price tags, and letting them hang again. The prices all seemed low, but the class of bikes Chris normally looked at was higher than the ones around him. He wasn’t a snob, but he liked what he liked and what he liked was in a niche, meaning he paid for his preference. It could also be that the last time he’d come bike shopping it had been when Peter traded in his two year old Diavel for a fresh off the trailer V4 Factory with limited edition styling and all the bells and whistles. 

These bikes cost a third of what that one had.

In the center of the row, Stiles stopped and sat on the fourth or fifth bike since they’d come in the doors. At six foot, he was too tall for it. 

“I like the new color scheme,” Stiles said, rolling the bike slightly, rocking from the flat of his feet to his toes. “Do you?” 

“It’s pretty,” Chris said. 

Stiles’s had been more red than white, unlike the one in front of him. They’d even changed the styling of the R3 written on the plastic fairing. He remembered helping Peter pull Stiles’s up the steep incline off the curve he’d gone over. It’s bright red fairing had dragged along the wet asphalt. Chris remembered trying to convince himself it was just paint chips on the road even when the streaks were smeared and washed away with the rain. 

“You don’t want one just like it, do you?” Chris asked. 

“I don’t know,” Stiles said, pulling in the clutch lever and looking over. “It was a good bike.” 

“It was, but it was a learner’s bike.” 

“Yeah,” Stiles said, getting off and leaning the bike back over. He patted the gas tank as they walked farther down the row. 

He sat on an R6, the big brother of the bike he had had with double the horsepower. Then an R1, the superbike that Yamaha produced with more horsepower than anyone had any business with. The R1 was a holdover from two years before. It was the same paint scheme as Stiles’s small bike had been. Chris kept himself from grabbing Stiles’s arm as he went to sit on it. 

His heart lifted a little bit when Stiles shuddered as he got off it with a small smile. 

“It’s too close to home.” 

“Yes it is, get away from it,” Chris said, putting his arm around Stiles’s neck again as he came closer. He kissed his face. A few people gave them looks. Chris thought they could go get fucked. “Do you like anything?” 

“Nah, I need to research some more,” Stiles said, putting his arm around Chris’s back, still leaning into him. 

Chris nodded, although that was bullshit. If Stiles didn’t have a tab up looking at music videos or researching new books for his store, then he was looking at bikes or cars. There wasn’t any way he didn’t know exactly what bike he wanted next, what cc, and what the insurance premium would most likely be. 

But Chris let it go as they walked outside into the sun. The first warm day of spring had been a few weeks ago. They’d gone through another spell of clouds and cold again, but today was beautiful and clear. With his riding jacket it would be perfect weather to cruise around the lake near their house. 

After they got into the truck, Chris checked his phone and he saw Stiles do the sme from the corner of his eye. They both had texts from Peter. Not that surprising. He liked to pout on Thursdays, when he had to work and they could run around together. Chris tossed his phone back into the center console before putting the Toyota into drive. Stiles was texting as he drove through the parking lot and to the far exit. He watched the flow of traffic in front of them, waiting for a break. 

“You don’t want a Yamaha,” Chris said before glancing at Stiles. 

“It would be fine. I just want to ride again. Last year sucked.” 

“You don’t have to get another R3. You’re a good rider, Stiles. That’s not what got you in trouble.” 

“I know,” Stiles said. He was chewing his nail again. 

Chris reached over and squeezed his thigh. Then he made a right out onto the road. He crossed a few lanes and turned left at the light. The few miles between them and the bike shop they frequented most often fell away quickly. There were used bikes out front there too as Chris pulled into their small cracked parking lot, but the bikes were fifteen and twenty years old. European classics. 

Stiles jumped out of the car, lingering by the cargo hatch as Chris got out a little slower. He was rocking on the soles of his feet. 

“Are you excited or something?” 

“Shut up,” Stiles said, grabbing his hand and winding their fingers together. 

Chris never cared if Stiles or Peter held his hand. But walking into the shop, he didn’t even think twice about it like he did some other places. They knew them here. He and Peter had bought enough parts and bikes from them that they were just par for the course. No one ever looked twice anymore. 

Their selection was much smaller inside the building. The back row was divided between Moto Guzzi and used crotch rockets people had traded in. The front row was taken up by their stock of traded in Harley Davidsons and the other side of the first room was Aprillia. Peter had picked his own out of that line up not long before. It’s spot had long since been taken by another of its model with a slightly different paint scheme. It was still overly bright and if they turned it on it would be obnoxiously loud. 

Stiles went to a red and silver Motor Guzzi with his eyes wide. He dragged his fingers over the soft-looking brown leather of the seat before he looked at the price tag. He didn’t blame him. The seat alone showed that it was pricey. Stiles straddled it and pulled it up. 

It looked good with him on it. A little flashy, but nothing over the top. Then again, a lot of the time Stiles would be riding with him and Peter. Between the straight exhaust of his own motorcycle and the flashing neon signs that were Peter’s bikes, he would be fine. 

“How many horsepower does this have?” Stiles asked, looking down at the matte silver paint on the tank. 

“Around 40 if I remember right.” 

Stiles frowned, still staring down at it. “Peter likes his Guzzi.” 

“He does, but he never rides it,” Chris said with a small smile when Stiles looked up. “And he has three more bikes to choose from when he wants to get somewhere without getting run over.” 

Stiles frowned deeper when Chris winked at him. He looked back down at the bike like someone had told him his new puppy was ugly. 

“It’s pretty.” 

Chris laughed slightly. “It is pretty and when we’re getting you a second bike, put it at the top of the list.” 

Stiles snorted. “Peter isn’t even buying this bike unless I take The Bite.” 

“Peter isn’t the only one with more money than he knows what to do with,” Chris said. 

Stiles looked up and his lips parted slightly. He looked like a deer caught in the road. “I didn’t say it so you’d offer.” 

“I know,” Chris said. “But even if you had that’d be fine.” 

Stiles laughed slightly, not meeting his eyes. The gas tank was pretty, but it wasn’t that fascinating. His cheeks turned pink beneath his moles. Chris felt a little high. Spending money on himself never gave him that feeling. 

“I’m not letting him use that as a pawn, Stiles. If you want to take The Bite, then I support it, but he’s not allowed to hold that over your head.” 

“Well he does it anyway.” 

“Now he won’t have leverage,” Chris said. 

Stiles looked up and smiled without showing his teeth. “Thanks.” 

Chris went closer and kissed Stiles on his permanently chapped lips. Stiles kissed him a little deeper, but Chris pulled away. 

“Come on. Pick something out that’ll break me,” Chris said. 

“You’re such a good daddy,” Stiles said. 

He said it too quietly, with too much of a little smile. 

“You’re a brat,” Chris said, kissing him again. 

That time he was willing to admit it was completely indecent, but they were around to drop a lot of money, no other customers were around, and he had yet to see a sales person. He threaded his fingers into Stiles’s hair and kissed him deeper for a handful of seconds before pulling away. 

Stiles got off the V7, adjusting himself in his jeans before shooting Chris a dirty look, like it was his fault that Stiles decided to get handsy in public. 

Stiles went into the second show room that held the Triumphs and Ducatis. This was the place Chris had thought they’d come first if Stiles ever wanted to replace his R3. From the moment he started seriously considering a motorcycle three years ago it had always been Triumphs and Ducatis. He fawned over Chris’s Thruxton and loved the Speed Triple Peter had had for three months before he sold it for something less pedestrian by Peter’s standards, although Chris could count on his fingers how many times he’d seen a Speed Triple on the street. 

But then again, Peter really just liked to buy. He liked the experience of walking into a dealership, picking out what he wanted, sometimes special ordering, and the excitement of something new. He had the money to do it and the skills to get good deals, so Chris couldn’t really fault him. 

Not that he would, not with how excited Peter was when he was in the process of buying. Chris knew it was fleeting, but there was something about it that always gave him a little high too. 

Chris sat on one of the Bonnevilles and a Thruxton. He even sat on a Street Triple, but even more upright sitting than a crotchrocket, it leaned too far forward. Low pulses of pain started in his shoulder and his lower back ached just a little. If he took it more than twenty miles at a time he would be laid up in bed with the heating pad for a day. 

“Chris, help.” 

Chris looked across the aisle to Stiles sitting on a black Street Triple like the one he sat on, but the frame was bright red. Its dual headlights reminded him of the eyes of a praying mantis. Stiles looked up at him with his eyes a little wide, cautious, hopeful. Chris would cut off his arm to keep from wrecking that expression. 

Chris smiled at him. “You like it.” 

“It’s awesome. I hadn’t seen one with the red frame.” 

“Me either,” Chris said, getting off the bike he was on and going over to the one Stiles sat on. He looked at the price tag and shrugged at Stiles. “I said break me. That doesn’t even take negotiation.” 

Stiles laughed, his cheeks turning a little bit red. They still did when they bought new things for him. It was kind of sweet, but he wished he’d stop. He loved buying things for him. He wished Stiles would stop seeing it as a novelty and more of a constant after so long. 

“I could always go for the Desmio,” he said. 

Chris laughed, “Just give me a heart attack now.” 

Stiles smiled. “You and Dad. Dad’s going to hate this enough.” 

“Stiles! Chris! It’s good to see you guys.” 

Chris looked the way they’d come to the owner of the dealership, James, coming toward them. He held out his hand to Chris and pulled him into a rough hug. Then he shook Stiles’s hand. 

“I told you to come see me when you were ready to upgrade from the R3. It’s been awhile,” James said. 

“Yeah,” Stiles said, his face getting red again. “I wrecked the R3.” 

“Shit. I’m sorry to hear it.” 

“It was raining on that road out by our house and someone crossed the centerline,” Chris said.

“Highway 10 by the lake? That roads a killer, man. I’m glad you’re okay,” James said. It sounded like he actually meant it. 

“Thanks. I was in the hospital for a little while, but I’m good now,” Stiles said. 

“You’ve got some battle scars,” James said, gesturing to his arm. 

“Yeah it’s all up my right side,” Stiles said. 

James winced. “That’s terrible.” 

“He’s a tough kid,” Chris said, reaching out to squeeze Stiles’s shoulder. 

Still Chris remembered him in the hospital bed crying because it hurt so badly two days after. He’d broken bones in his upper back, his ribs, and a few fingers. That was leaving the fact that almost every piece of his skin on the right side was gone. Peter had laid in the bed with him while he waited for the pain medication to kick in, his arms covered with blankets so nurses couldn’t see the black lines of pain lacing up them. 

Chris squeezed the nape of Stiles’s neck. 

“So what’re we doing today?” James asked. “Just looking?” 

Stiles looked at Chris and Chris shrugged. 

“It’s up to you.” 

“I don’t know,” Stiles said, but he looked down at the bike with so much want that Chris’s chest felt tight. 

“We could take it for a test drive?” James asked. “Have you ridden since the accident?” 

“Yeah. I rode Chris’s Enfield.” 

“You felt alright doing it?” 

“Yeah I was fine.” 

“Then come on. We’ll get you a helmet and have my guys pull it out of here,” James said. 

Chris watched Stiles. His cheeks were still slightly red, but when he smiled at James some of that nervousness was gone. Now it just looked like normal nerves to ride something new instead of being petrified. 

“Yeah sounds good.” 

Chris went with Stiles to the helmet wall as another salesman helped the owners get the Street Triple outside. Stiles ended up with a matte black one. When the other men were gone, Chris pulled Stiles forward and kissed his forehead, holding the sides of his face. 

“I love you, kid.” 

“I love you too,” Stiles said, squeezing his wrist. “Do you not think I should get it?” 

“Of course not.” 

“You look nervous.” 

“I’m not nervous about you. I’m nervous about all the other idiots, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t do what makes you happy.” 

Stiles nodded, then pressed close to Chris’s chest, tucking his face against his neck. Chris kissed the top of his head, breathing in the scent of him. An errant thought flittered across his brain that it could be the last time he would hold him, smell him, and he stomped it down. The dramatics were fucking stupid and he knew it. 

Then Chris head the bike start outside. He kissed Stiles’s head again then pulled away, giving Stiles’s hand a tug. 

An hour later, Chris stood outside of the shop, watching traffic filter by. The Street Triple rumbled beside him as he kissed Stiles again. 

“I’ll see you at home,” he said. 

“Be careful,” Stiles said. 

“I’ll be fine,” Chris said, kissing Stiles again before pulling on Stiles’s new helmet. Stiles might be ready to ride again, but that was a far cry from riding in rush hour city traffic. After he fastened the D-ring beneath his chin, he straddled the bike, feeling it rumble beneath him. 

Stiles smiled at him.. “You look good on it, old man.” 

Chris cracked the throttle. 

“Oh my God it sounds so good,” Stiles said, staring at his new bike like he still couldn’t quite believe it was his. 

“Come on. I’ll wait on you,” Chris said. 

Stiles kissed his helmet before jogging back to the 4Runner. Chris waited until Stiles was at the second exit from the dealership before he merged into traffic, already accepting that by the time they got home, he would be limping and hunting down their heating pad with rabid determination.


	2. Chapter 2

Every muscle in Chris’s lower back was on fire. He’d already taken four ibuprofen and the heating pad in his bedside table was calling his name, but Stiles was fawning. He ran his hands, with a microfiber cloth between him and the glossy paint, over the gas tank of his Triumph, staring at it with the dazed look he’d had since he’d first seen it.

The heating pad could wait. For now, Chris was content to lean against the workbench in their garage and watch Stiles fondle his new toy. He hadn’t realized it matched Stiles’s Landrover until they’d gotten home.

At least the Landrover that Stiles was willing to drive, but not willing to admit was actually his although Peter had put his name on the title. After the accident, when Stiles’s knee and leg were fucked up and he couldn’t push in the clutch pedal of his CJ, he’d needed something to drive. Chris and Peter had spare cars between them, but then nothing had been good enough. Nothing had been safe enough, new enough, nothing had been good enough to make up for the fact that Peter had bought the R3 that Stiles had nearly been killed on, so Peter had thrown over $100,000 at guilt.

“How did it ride?” Chris asked.

“Fucking amazing,” Stiles said, walking around the bike, his riding jacket still on. It still said Yamaha across the back. They would have to fix that soon. “How did you like it?”

“It’s hard on an old man,” Chris said, sharing a small smile.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles said. “I just didn’t trust myself-.”

“I wouldn’t have wanted you to ride it home even if you had,” Chris said. “I’m glad you like it.”

“I love it,” Stiles said before he put the microfiber cloth on the seat and came over to hug Chris.

Chris squeezed him, the padding of their jackets rough against each other. Chris breathed in the scent of fresh air, gasoline, and leather on his skin. It was a smell he never got tired of on Stiles or Peter. It was intoxicating.

They were still hugging when the beep that signaled someone was coming up the driveway sounded. Stiles pulled away, chewing his lower lip before taking a breath through his nose. Chris watched his narrow chest expand in his jacket.

“It’ll be okay. He’ll get over it.”

“I know. He’s going to be pissed.”

Chris knew Peter would be, but he’d be damned if he would allow Peter to puff himself up into lecture mode over it. Not when Peter hadn’t been shaken enough to get rid of his own motorcycle collection. They sat like shiny jewels along the back of the garage. If he’d cared that much to keep Stiles off a bike, he would’ve made sure they’d taken up another hobby that Stiles could enjoy too.

Then Peter rounded the corner in the driveway, his Mercedes silver and bright against the dark green of the woods surrounding their home. He pulled up to the garage and got out with a faint smile on his face, looking over their jackets and boots.

“Did you two go for a ride?” he asked, then his eyes landed on the Triumph parked beside Chris’s Royal Enfield. “And whose is that?”

“Mine,” Stiles said.

Peter looked at Chris with the smile completely gone. For a lot of people, that look would’ve been terrifying. He knew it had been for the woman that had run Stiles off the road. She’d looked like she was going to have a breakdown when Peter had stood in front of her in the waiting room of the hospital promising that if Stiles didn’t recover that she would pay, literally. Some man with her had tried to step between them, trying to be threatening and Peter had somehow managed to look more murderous. Then John had stepped in, looking exhausted, but still in his uniform.

John had asked the couple to leave. The woman hadn’t wanted to. She had wanted to know if Stiles was going to be okay, if he was going to survive her idiotic mistake. Then it had been John’s turn to look no less than terrifying, promising that if Stiles wasn’t okay that she would be the first to know.

Now Peter tried to turn that look on him, but they had been together far too long. Chris only stared back.

“Do you not like it?” Stiles asked.

“It’s beautiful,” Peter said, finally breaking his staring contest with Chris. He gave Stiles the charming smile he could turn on like the flip of a switch. Then he closed the distance between himself and Stiles and kissed his brow, his hand on his nape. “I’m glad you like it, Love.”

“Don’t be pissed,” Stiles said. “You know I’ve wanted one-.”

“I’m not angry with you.”

“You can’t be angry with Chris either,” Stiles said.

“That’s simply not true,” Peter said, smiling again before he kissed Stiles and stepped passed him. “Excuse me, I need to make some calls.”

“Peter,” Chris said, as Peter walked to the door.

Peter looked at him and Chris held his eyes. There were years of an unspoken language passing in the air before Chris even opened his mouth.

“Get your head on straight.”

“My head is perfectly fine,” Peter said, as he walked into the house, closing the door softly behind him.

Stiles groaned, his head falling back, as he stripped off his jacket.

“He’ll get over it,” Chris said.

“I still don’t like causing shit between you guys.”

“Stiles,” Chris said, waiting until Stiles was looking at him. “He did this. Not you. He doesn’t get to manipulate people. He’s doing it right now, so don’t let him.”

Stiles rolled his shoulders, hanging his riding jacket on his hook between Chris and Peter’s.

“I know you’re right.”

“I normally am.”

Stiles smiled enough to dimple his cheek. “And modest.”

Chris winked then pulled Stiles into a rough hug, kissing the side of his head, inhaling that intoxicating smell. Peter was just as addicted to that scent, of freedom, of living, and exhilaration. Soon he’d remember that. The only unknown was how long it would take.

  


 

Peter stayed in his office during dinner that night. That was fine. Chris refused to go talk to him when he was pouting. It would lead to nothing, but them both being pissed, so he and Stiles went out, after Stiles had asked Peter if he wanted to come. They had ridden their bikes to the small town closest to their house and eaten at the diner they both enjoyed and Peter could take or leave.

They sat in chairs that overlooked the street, right in front of their bikes parked beside each other. Stiles kept looking up from his fries to stare out of the window with a little smile. Chris’s chest tightened in a different way than it had following Stiles into town. Every little twitch of Stiles on the bike made his heart feel like it was holding its beat.  

“How did I do?” Stiles asked, as he drank the chocolate shake the waitress had brought him.

“Great,” Chris said.

Stiles rolled his eyes, the straw still in his mouth. “You don’t have to lie.”

“I’m not. You were shaky in the bad corner, but nothing to be worried about. Take that corner as slow as you need to,” Chris said.

“I used to take that thing at fifty like it was nothing.”

“Yeah well that was before you left half of your skin on the road there,” Chris said. “You’ll get back to taking the corners quick. Until then, let yourself be a little nervous. It’s good for you. It’ll make you cautious.”

“Yeah,” Stiles said. He picked up his phone and clicked on the screen. Chris could see there still wasn’t anything from Peter.

“Give him time. You know how he is,” Chris said.

“Yeah a fucking diva,” Stiles said. Then he leaned forward with his elbows on the table and rubbed his skull before looking at Chris. “I just really don’t fucking get him. Don’t get me wrong I love him-.”

“I know you do, so vent your heart out.”

“He’s just such a fucking asshole,” Stiles said, his voice rising slightly. “I get it. He doesn’t want me riding without the bite, but that’s just-. It goes all through me. I get why, but when I said no, that’s all it should’ve taken. That’s all it took for you.”

“I’m older than him and he didn’t have money to hold over my head, that helped quite a bit. And with him, you have to learn that sometimes you’re just going to piss him off. When he doesn’t get his way that’s how he is and it’s okay. He comes around.”

“Yeah I just wish he wasn’t mad at you. For one it makes me feel like I’m nothing. I’m just the stupid kid and you’re the adult. I don’t get any blame, because I’m too stupid to deserve it.”

“He doesn’t think you’re stupid. Not anywhere close, Stiles.”

“That’s how it feels when he blames you for things I do.”

“I know,” Chris said. “For once, you need to tell him that.”

“It should be obvious. I’m more than old enough to make my own choices.”

“Stiles, half the time he doesn’t think I’m old enough to make my own decisions.”

“But he doesn’t do it to you as often as he does it to me,” Stiles said, looking at Chris with his large brown eyes. They were half puppy dog eyes and half pissed off Pit Bull.

“I’ve been able to bite his head off enough that he’s learned to bite his tongue. You have to start letting him have it when he pisses you off.”

Stiles let a loud breath out through his nose before he started sucking on the shake. Sitting like that in his dark jacket with a red straw against his chapped pink lips and helmet flattened hair, he did look young, but Chris had learned a long time ago that Stiles had a good head on his shoulders. He wouldn’t have ever wanted a long term relationship with Stiles if he hadn’t, even if he did still call him kid and even if he did still have to help him file his taxes and figure out health insurance. That was all shit that was learned with age. The things that Stiles needed to know, the things that made him a mature and capable human were all there. Chris made it priority not to forget those things. He wasn’t sure if Peter tried and failed or if it was simply that Stiles was human, younger, and had been broken in front of them with so many stitches and skin grafts it had made Chris’s strong stomach churn.

“I still have to tell my dad too,” Stiles said.

Chris gave a weak shrug. “He’s going to be about as happy as Peter, but it’s your life, kid. It’s way too short to let other people make your decisions. You know that better than anyone.”

Stiles reached across the yellowed table top and squeezed his hand. He didn’t say anything, just kept drinking his shake and chewing on the straw as he held Chris’s hand until their food came. Before he let go, Chris kissed Stiles’s scarred knuckles.

“Having so many people love you is a good problem to have,” he said.

Stiles snorted, squeezing Chris’s hand. “Yeah well they could learn to love me a little less loudly.”

“We can agree on that,” Chris said, as he passed the pepper for Stiles to use on his ketchup.

When they got home, Peter was still in his office with the door closed. Chris considered going in and telling him they were going to sleep, but decided against it. There was nothing wrong with Peter’s hearing. He would’ve heard them come in, he would hear them go to bed. He probably even heard the long slow blow job Stiles gave him only ending when he’d slipped two fingers into Chris’s ass and massaged his prostate. Chris hadn’t bothered being quiet when he came in Stiles’s mouth, watching his cheeks hollow as he swallowed everything down. He’d returned the favor by kissing Stiles and fingering him while he jacked himself off. Stiles had melted against him in the way he loved, like they weren’t nearly the same height and weight. Stiles had a way of making himself feel smaller against Chris’s body when they had sex of any kind. After Stiles’s cum covered his hand, Stiles had went limp against his chest, clinging to him with his arms around his shoulders. Chris had held him back with his face tucked against Stiles’s hair.

He wished he could go back in time two years before. When he was in the waiting room with Peter and John, waiting to hear anything on Stiles, trying not to cry, and also feeling like nothing was real. He wished he could tell himself what he was doing now. That he was holding Stiles and they had just survived the first day of his new bike’s ownership.

Since he couldn’t, he just squeezed Stiles closer and felt him breathing against his chest.

  
  
  


When Chris woke up, the bed on the other side of Stiles was still empty. The blurry numbers of the alarm clock said it was well passed three in the morning. Chris gently extracted himself from Stiles’s arms and legs, pulling the blankets back around him before he went down the hall.

Peter was still in his office, not asleep on the couch in there like Chris had figured, but at the computer.

“Are you actually working?” Chris asked.

“It would appear so,” Peter said.

“Appear, yes, but it’s after three. I doubt you’re billing anyone this late,” he said.

Peter looked up from his monitor and stared at Chris for a moment before another expression crossed his eyes. It was just the barest change, but it was going from passive to aggressive, knowing that if they were going to have an argument about Stiles it was now or never.

“You knew I didn’t want him back on a motorcycle without The Bite.”

“And he didn’t want The Bite.”

“That’s what a compromise is, Chris. No one goes away happy from a compromise.”

“Do you really thing that was a fair compromise?” Chris asked. “A motorcycle for a life altering agreement?”

“A motorcycle could be a life altering agreement. He’s proven that.”

“Peter, that wreck was not his fault,” Chris said, forcing himself to keep his voice even. “You made an entire court cased based on that fact.”

“No it was that stupid bitch’s fault and she paid, although I’m not sure if it was enough, which is what I was just looking into.”

“Peter,” Chris said.

Peter looked back up from the blue glow of his screen. “I will take her for everything she’s worth. If I remember correctly, you felt the same way at the time. So did John.”

“And you did,” Chris said.

Truthfully, she had been punished more than if it had been another person she ran off the road. Unfortunately for her, it had been the sheriff’s son and Peter Hale’s, one of the best lawyers in the state, long-term boyfriend. She had deserved to be punished and she was, to the fullest extent of the law, and possibly beyond it. Chris couldn’t bring himself to have any sympathy when he’d thought of Stiles screaming with tears rolling down his face as the EMS workers had loaded him into the back of the ambulance.

“I don’t understand,” Peter said, finally clicking on something and making the computer screen go dark. “How could you not back me on this? Was I the only one in the room when he was crying from them changing the bandages? Or the first times he had a shower? Was I there alone, because I could have sworn you were there beside me.”

“I can’t take away his autonomy, because of something that happened to him that he had no control over,” Chris said.

“You didn’t have to take away his autonomy. You had to not buy the fucking motorcycle for him, Chris,” Peter said, his voice finally rising. “If he could buy it for himself? Fine. I accept that.”

“He wanted it, Peter,” he said, with as much heat as Peter had said his name. “I’m not going to manipulate him with money. He already feels a deficiency to us as it is. We tell him over and over again to think of our money as his, that if he needs or wants something that all he has to do is let us know. I’m not going to spit in the face of that.”

“Oh really? So if he developed a heroin addiction would you supply him with money for that as well?”

Chris stared at him, but Peter was too used to courtrooms, too used to saying stupid shit and being able to keep a straight face.

“Yes, Peter, because a motorcycle is exactly the same thing as a drug addiction.”

“It could end his life.”

“It could end mine and you have never pushed The Bite on me like you do him.”

“You’ve always been capable of buying your own bikes. I couldn't hold it over your head.”

“You have bought me motorcycles,” Chris said.

Peter’s mouth thinned before the edges turned down. “Well for your sake, I hope he doesn’t wreck on the motorcycle you’ve bought him. I hope you never find him in the ditch, smelling, and seeing so much blood that you know he must be dead. I would never wish that on you, because it will rip your heart from your chest, knowing that he was hurt, possibly killed, on something that you bought him. That it’s your fault that he could even be in that position.”

Chris felt his own features soften as he went closer to the desk. Peter stood and wiped beneath his nose. When he looked up his eyes were glassy, but he wasn’t crying.

“I will never forget that smell. You will never understand. John will never understand. I smelled how much of his blood was outside of his body and I was certain that he was dead.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Chris said softly. “He wanted a bike. He was going to get one in one way or another.”

“But he didn’t. I did. I bought him one without ABS, because it was the one he wanted. I-.”

Chris went closer and hugged Peter tightly. At first Peter just let his arms hang at his sides before he hugged Chris loosely, then harder. Chris tightened his fingers in Peter’s t-shirt.

“I can’t stand the thought of losing him,” Peter said against Chris’s shoulder.

Chris pulled away until he could hold Peter’s face in his hands. As they had gotten older, sometimes it was hard to remember that Peter was five years younger than him. With his eyelashes clumped together with tears and his eyes so blue against the red veins, it was easier.

“If you keep treating him like something to be manipulated and controlled, we’re going to lose him anyway,” Chris said, wiping the few tears that had fallen with the pads of his thumbs. “If he dies doing something he loves-,” Chris heard Peter’s breathing stutter and overrode it. “If he does, we have to accept that. There are so many ways for humans to die. I understand how badly you want to protect him. If I could wrap him in bubble-wrap and him still be able to live a full healthy life, then I would, but that isn’t how it works.”

Peter rolled his wet eyes but sank back against Chris’s chest, letting him hug him. Chris kissed his temple and rocked him for a handful of seconds.

“If you don’t start treating him like he’s his own little grown up, he’s going to start ripping your head off, by the way. I’d take that to heart, because when he finally does say something about that, it’s going to get nasty.”

Peter exhaled against his throat. “Fine,” he said.

Maybe it was the late hour or maybe Peter was seeing the light with having a younger partner, Chris was betting on the former, but he thought the way Peter was clinging to him had some promise as he finally pulled away. He took Peter’s face back in his hands and cradled it.

“Don’t ruin this for him. You should’ve seen him today. You’d think he won the lottery.”

Peter snorted, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand. “He has. He has two sugar daddies that’ll buy him whatever he wants at the drop of a hat.”

Chris laughed and squeezed Peter tightly before intertwining their fingers and leading him back down the hall to their bedroom. He laid down on his normal side and listened to Peter undress on the far side of the bed then he felt it shift as he laid down then scooted closer to Stiles until he heard Stiles’s soft hum as Peter dragged him back against his chest. Poor kid was too used to being manhandled in his sleep for it to even wake him up as he adjusted in Peter’s hold. Chris leaned over Stiles to kiss Peter’s soft lips in the dark before he rolled over. With the heating pad against his sore muscles he quickly slipped into a deep sleep.

  
  


The sun was bleeding gray into their bedroom when Chris woke up to one of their phones ringing. He looked at his own on the bedside table, but it was dark. Stiles flailed, catching him right in the kidney. Chris cussed as Peter shushed him both and sat up with his phone against his face.

For a few seconds, Chris listened to the tone of the feminine voice on the other end and was worried, until he heard Peter answer back full of professionalism. It wasn’t family, just a client. Everyone they cared about was fine. He settled back down, then felt Stiles adjusting his heating pad and clicking the buttons against since it had shut off during the night.

“Sorry for the kidney punch, more of a knee actually,” he said.

“Like I’m not used to it. If you kill both of mine I expect you to give one of yours up,” Chris said.

“Fine,” Stiles said, snuggling up behind Chris as Peter kept talking in his lawyer voice. “It sounds like he’s going to have to leave.”

“Morning calls normally do,” Chris said, falling back to sleep.

“Assholes. I wanted to go around the lake today.”

“May they burn in Hell,” Chris said.

“Right?”

Then they heard Peter exhale. Chris looked over his shoulder, past Stiles to Peter where he’d put down his phone.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

“I have to go to San Francisco,” he said, rubbing his tired eyes. “Motherfucker. I do not want to.”

Stiles extracted himself Chris and rolled over to Peter, worming his arms around Peter’s torso and tugging.

“Not right now, right?”

“No right now,” Peter said. “I’m close to cutting all of my high profile clients. They aren’t worth it.”

“Which one?”

“My stupidest. She hit a paparazzi photographer and is currently being held at the police station. You would think she was in Guantanamo from the sound.”

“I can drive you,” Chris said.

“No, I’ll order a car,” Peter said, then he gently took Stiles’s hands off of him. Before Stiles could pout, he leaned over and kissed his lips then his forehead. “Hopefully I’ll be back by the end of the day, if not then tomorrow.”

“Let us know when you get there,” Stiles said.

“I will,” Peter said as he went to the closet and pulled down the small suitcase as he held his phone in the crook of his shoulder.

Chris heard him ordering a car then that was all as he fell back to sleep. He woke to Peter kissing his cheek. He caught his hand and kissed him on the mouth, touching his rough cheek that was normally smooth.

“I love you. Be careful.”

“I love you too,” Peter said, kissing him again.

Then Stiles was against Chris’s back, leaning up to get a kiss too. Peter kissed him deeper, cupping Stiles’s face and brushing his cheekbone with his thumb. When they stopped, Peter pressed his forehead to Stiles’s.

“Please be careful.”

“I will be,” Stiles said.

“I love you very much.”

“I know,” Stiles said, kissing him again. “I love you too.”

Peter pecked them both again before he closed the bedroom door. Stiles settled down against Chris’s back, his breath soft against the back of his neck. Chris grabbed his hand against his stomach and threaded their fingers together.

  
  
  


Peter wasn’t back that day. It at least sounded like he would be back the following one. It gave Stiles a day to break the bike news to his dad, which John took about as well as Chris figured he would. Stiles did it by sending him a picture, which was apparently the wrong course of action since John called immediately and read him the riot act.

By the end of the call, both of them seemed upset, but better. When they were sitting on the couch, later that evening, Chris saw Stiles’s phone light with a message from John. It was the first he’d sent since Stiles sent the picture of the Triumph just after they’d gone on a ride around the lake.

Daddy-O: _It’s beautiful. Be careful. You can bet if anything happens to you on that thing they can just go ahead and put me in a casket too. Love you buddy. Please be safe._

Chris didn’t watch what Stiles replied, but he gave him a squeeze after he did. Stiles’s answer was to ask if they could go on a quiet evening ride which Chris gave into way too easily since his lower back was still screaming.

  


 

 

Peter got home the next afternoon right after they’d eaten lunch. Chris was still washing the pans with Stiles loading the dishwasher when he came in the front door. Stiles greeted him like he always did, running at him and jumping, making Peter lift him up so he could wrap his legs around his waist. They kissed until it was pornographic, even though Peter had only been gone a little over twenty-four hours.

When Peter backed Stiles against the wall, pushing his hips against Stiles and growling just loud enough for Chris to hear as they kissed, Chris closed the dishwasher louder than necessary. They kissed for a few seconds longer before Peter pulled away enough to just stare at Stiles, like he was sure he wasn’t real, he kissed him one more time before sitting him on his feet.

“No need to be jealous, love,” Peter said, as he came around the island, and kissed Chris too.

Chris slid his hand down Peter’s front and squeezed the semi-hard on he’d gotten from his little makeout session with Stiles.

“Live with a bunch of perverts,” Chris said.

“Says the man with his hand on my dick without even asking,” Peter said, kissing down Chris’s throat and inhaling loudly. “I want to go ride. The smell on you both is making me jealous.”

“Just jealous?” Stiles asked, slipping up behind Peter.

“Among other things that I’ll enjoy more after I’ve gotten over this irritation at being around jackasses for the last day,” Peter said.

Then he stepped away from both of them leading the way to the garage. He hit the garage door opener and Chris listened to it rolling open as he grabbed his gear he’d thrown over his Thruxton earlier. He considered taking the Enfield. She was his baby, but if he was going with Peter and Stiles, it wasn’t going to keep up.

“Don’t wear that,” Peter said.

Chris looked up, not sure who he was talking to before he saw Peter reach into the backseat of his SUV. He didn’t know when he’d had time to put the bag there, but Peter was full of tricks and sometimes it was more fun to just not know how he did it all.

He went toward Stiles holding out a large brown sack. Stiles smiled slightly, but looked confused as he reached inside, then his face lit with a smile as he pulled out a black leather jacket with TRIUMPH in bold white lettering on the back.

“Your old one didn’t match,” Peter said.

He barely had time to get that out before Stiles hugged him, more like crushing him. Peter hugged Stiles back nearly as hard, kissing his cheek repeatedly.

“Be safe, be careful. If anyone else causes you to wreck, I won’t just sue them,” Peter said.

Stiles pulled away and kissed Peter, like the threat of murder to a stranger was the most romantic thing he’d ever heard. Then, Peter wasn’t wrong. He wouldn’t be killing them alone.

Peter helped Stiles put the jacket on, cutting the tags with his sharp nails before he kissed Stiles again. Then he walked toward Chris where his own motorcycles were parked. Chris, who had watched their exchange leaning against the seat of his Thruxton, took Peter’s hand as he passed and gave him a quick kiss.

“Proud of you,” he said quietly.

“Yes, well if this all ends in murder, I expect you to help discard the body,” Peter said.

“Like you even had to say,” Chris said before the roar of Stiles’s new motorcycle drowned out their conversation, reverberating against the walls of the garage.

  


**Author's Note:**

> Here is a post I made on Tumblr showing the motorcycles talked about in the fic, at least the main ones anyway. 
> 
>  
> 
> [ Disabling and Ultimatum Motorcycle Post ](http://tridom.tumblr.com/post/164575539199/disabling-an-ultimatum)


End file.
